I forgot to bring my medication with me when I came to school this week, and I think I'm already feeling the effects. And it's not like I was doing splendidly before either. Why is my brain doing this to me? I mean, enough should be enough, right? Maybe I should just go to bed. But I kind of don't want to, because both my roommates are out partying in the hall with the rest of the geniuses on my floor, and I don't want to look like a narcoleptic loner sleeping in here all by myself. Like, that's no fun at all, right? Also, I really need to be doing some linguistics stuff, but I can't seem to concentrate on anything right now, so I'm procrastinating it, but then I know I have to do it, so I can't sleep yet. Oh yes, and I need to be studying for my anthro midterm too. And that's the story, folks. What am I to do here? My life is like a barrel of mold and disappointment. (That was a really nice and poetic simile, just saying) Should I march out into the hall and demand that people start paying attention to me and give me alcohol? Not that they have any, probably, as it's illegal to have in the dorms, but maybe it would appeal to their bibulous lifestyles and make them love me deeply. Oh, my socialite roommate just came in and invited me to join them all out in the hall, and I immediately refused, like the wretched recluse that I am. Why do I do these things? Why am I me? Man, I really have to shape up here, or I'm going to end up as lonely as the unpaired rounded back vowel. At least I have nice eyebrows. That ought to count for something, right? If you have nice eyebrows, it's much easier to be rude and antisocial and mysterious and get away with it (a good wardrobe helps immensely as well). Speaking of which (sort of) I cut my bangs over the weekend, and now they're kind of short, and on one hand, I have the potential to look fierce, but on the other hand, I'm now possessed of too-short bangs, and I'm not sure if I actually look good or not. As always, people keep staring at me wherever I go, only now there's a friendly sort of flavor to it, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm adorable, or because I'm pitiably ugly. When I was getting dinner yesterday, some dude randomly told me that he liked my bangs, and that's an indication that I don't look good, because he was probably being sarcastic, right? But then again, maybe he was just hitting on me and not doing a very good job of it. I don't know, man! This is all so difficult. If only I could be sure that I look good, then I would feel at least 50% better about my life! Maybe I just have to embrace my inner beauty and accept myself as the majestic and flawless masterpiece that I am without any negative judgement allowed, and everything will be all sparkles and sunshine and daisies and Renoir's version of Impressionism. I know some people at a certain mental hospital who would be terribly enthused about that idea. But in the meantime, I have to contend with the joys of dorm life, and I have not the faintest idea how I'm going to go about doing that. Perhaps I should ask my cheery compatriots for some potations after all.